Somewhere in the Dim Forest as the Green Scourge threatens the area, two adventurers are sitting around a campfire. In one iron pot, a stew bubbles with dried venison, leaks, potatoes, and cabbage; in the other smaller iron pot black beans bake on a low simmer.
"I hear the hoard is getting closer every day. Supposedly they will reach Hookerhill within the weekend."
"Hmph. You need to get into town more often ranger. Hookerhill fell three days ago. The hoard is already here."
"Fuck! Chauntea save us. I had friends in Hookerhill. Good druids on the castellan's council."
"I heard most of the inhabitants lived. Saved by the Legion of the Nomads. But only after they all fled."
"The hoard isn't known for keeping prisoners or letting people escape, why start now?"
"They want something. And we are here to stop it."
"Us? What do you think we can do?-Wait. Is that why you called me? Well fine. But after this, we go our separate ways."
"Fine with me."
After a long silence, the campfire has died down and the food has been consumed and any waste disposed of in the Real Stream. "Well, I know a place nearby. Come, we should get there under the cover of night."
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